The Short, Cursed Life of Malcolm Gold
by Adelina Le Morte March
Summary: "The New Neverland" AU. Released outside the town line, Pan is given fake memories and put under the guardianship of his less than thrilled son. The one light in the new life of "Malcolm Gold" is a nightmare-plagued Wendy Darling, but she may also be the only one capable of breaking Pan's curse and letting darkness descend over Storybrooke for ever... Three-shot. Darling Pan.
1. Malcolm Gold

**A/N: I hate this fandom, LOL! Every time you think you're out, done with it forever, it sucks you back in. So yeah I'm kind of a OUAT fan again; at least until the next time the writers do something I find annoying. And I did end up watching (and yes, enjoying much of) season four after all. Anyway, I haven't been doing fanfiction (for _any_ category) lately because of time constraints (my original writing needs to take priority at this point in my life if I ever want to be a published author), health problems (my migraines are no joke), and other things that crop up. But I found the start of this fanfic on one of my flashdrives and I just HAD to finish/post it. I think (though I don't remember for sure) I originally intended this to be a long multichapter but I don't have the time/inspiration to commit to that right now and I think the story works better as a three-shot anyhow. **

**Hope you like!**

 _The Short, Cursed Life of Malcolm Gold _

A Reimagining of "The New Neverland"

Part One: Malcolm Gold

It wasn't fun, being in Pandora's box. As it was not total oblivion for whoever was trapped inside, Pan didn't have the luxury of blacking out. All he had was an endless wait inside of a dimly-lit cube. He could still hear his son, Rumple, talking to the others. His voice was slightly muffled by the box, but Pan still understood what he was saying; that he could never get out and Henry was safe now.

He'd actually tried, as Pandora's box sucked in his essence, to use magic to switch places with Henry. If he had succeeded in swapping bodies, things would have been very different. With the shell of doe-eyed Henry to protect him from all suspicion, everyone would easily have been taken in. Particularly, he was sure, the evil queen. Regina's all encompassing love for the boy would have blinded her. Emma might have been a little tougher. She loved Henry too, but her love was more guarded and more in tune to the boy's true nature.

This was all moot, however, since he'd lost his grip on the spell at the last minute, slipping away into Pandora's box, from where he could no longer reach the boy, his shadow, or his pulsating, truest believing heart.

Still, left alone with his thoughts, Pan couldn't help imagining the way it would have gone; walking across the deck of the Jolly Roger to Felix, who would certainly have been taken by surprise at first, then glowing with pleasure, poised ready to do his bidding. _He_ wasn't a traitor like the other lost boys...

When he wasn't savoring the conjured vision of what might have been – what almost was – Pan strained and tugged against the hold of the box, trying to use some part of himself, however deep within, to reach out. Perhaps if he could call his shadow from the sail where the evil queen had trapped it... Might it not be able to swoop down on dear little Rumple, snatch away the box, and release him?

Sometimes he thought he could feel a slight connection, thin as a strand of spider's silk, to his shadow, but he was never sure if he was successfully releasing it or sending it out to do his biding.

Then, one day, after Pan didn't know how long (or short), a reddish light was shining down on him from above. Someone or something, a shadow or person or creature, was finally releasing him.

Smirking, he stopped struggling and allowed his essence to float up to greet his benefactor.

 _Peter Pan never fails_ , he thought smugly.

* * *

 _Two Days Ago_

"You want to _release Pan_? Are you out of your _mind_?" demanded Regina, her lips pursed in disbelief, one hand on her hip, eyes darkening considerably.

"Don't look at me like that," Emma said, dragging her hand anxiously along the glass counter in Mr. Gold's antique shop. "I just think we need to figure out what's going on."

"What's going on," snapped Regina, "is that Pan is safely locked in Pandora's box, where he can't ever hurt Henry again. And I intend to keep it that way."

"Regina, _none_ of us are safe; not with Pan's shadow flying around loose in Storybrooke. And that includes Henry." Her eyes darted over to Mr. Gold, as if looking for help.

She got none. "Ms. Swan, while I hate to disappoint you, I'm going to have to side with Regina on this one."

" _What_? Why?"

Mr. Gold sucked his teeth. "Well, perhaps because, so far, the only people my father's shadow has gone after have been fairies. If it was really being controlled by him, don't you think it would have gone straight for Henry?"

It was true that the only two victims since yesterday morning, when the shadow had first broken free, were Mother Superior and Tinker Bell. But that didn't change the fact that Tinker Bell was in the hospital under Doctor Whale's supervision or that Mother Superior was now dead.

The shadow could easily have just been warming up, Emma thought; there was nothing truly preventing it from flying into Henry's bedroom (be it at Regina's house or Mary Margret's apartment) and trying to tear out his heart for Pan some night. Sure, Regina had put a protection spell over it, which wouldn't let the heart ever be taken out again, but what if this only angered the shadow, who then found _another_ way to hurt Henry? What if it tried to do to him what it had done to poor Mother Superior?

Pan himself, Rumpelstiltskin had told them, already tried once to rip Henry's shadow away upon discovering the protection spell; right before he was sucked into Pandora's box...

"The shadow ripped Mother Superior's shadow, _killing_ her," Emma growled, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm not about to let that happen to Henry next."

"Neither am I. Which is why we can't let Pan out of that box," Regina countered. "Perhaps, what we should be looking into is a way to rid ourselves of the shadow as well."

"And what if Pan's the only one who knows how to do that?" Emma argued.

"Even if that were true" – here Regina paused and squinted emphatically – "you think he's just going to hand that information over to you the second he gets out of the box? No." She shook her head. " _I_ can trap the shadow. I did it once before, on the sail."

"And that worked like a charm, didn't it, dearie?" Mr. Gold jibed.

Regina whirled on him. "Whose side are you on, Gold?"

"Look, just because I don't want my father released, doesn't mean I'm going to stand here and indulge this mad idea that you're somehow more powerful than his shadow."

"I _can_ do it again," she insisted heatedly, taking a step towards him.

"Even if you could, there's always the chance it'll break free again and hurt someone," Emma mused.

Regina turned back to her, glowering fiercely.

"Wait..." Emma's eyes moved past Regina's angry expression and over to Mr. Gold. "Is Pan conscious in Pandora's box?"

"You mean is he sitting in there, angrily stewing over being trapped?" Mr. Gold said, his response not wholly lacking in sarcasm. "You know, I really couldn't say. Are you going to suggest we let him out and _ask_?"

"It's just... What if he didn't have his memories? What if he was cursed, like the town used to be? Then he wouldn't even _know_ about the Shadow, let alone be able to use it to hurt Henry."

Regina's eyes widened with interest, but Mr. Gold only rolled his. "It's not as though we could simply insert a curse into the box."

"Maybe we don't have to," Emma told him. "What if we let him out of the box, but put the box outside of the town line?"

"There's always the chance that won't work," Regina pointed out, "because he wasn't part of the dark curse to begin with. He wasn't even in the Enchanted Forest; I never _made_ fake memories for him."

"Right, so–" Mr. Gold cut in impatiently.

"Although," Regina added, speaking over him, "if he _was_ over the town line, he wouldn't be able to use magic."

Letting her arms fall back loosely to her sides, Emma sighed. "Come on, Gold, there has to be _some_ way to curse him, once he's powerless. You found a way to keep your memories when you crossed the line to find Neal; now we need you to find a way to make Pan lose his."

After a long pause, Mr. Gold finally spoke, grimacing. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

 _Present Day_

The moment Pan saw daylight was the moment he forgot who he was, the moment false memories smothered him.

So it was no wonder that, upon seeing Emma holding a gun out in front of him, he looked alarmed. "Mom?"

"What?"

"Damn." Mr. Gold jabbed his cane on the ground. "It didn't work. This is one of his tricks; shoot him."

Emma hesitated.

"Take it easy," Pan protested, eyes widening. "I just wanted to know if you were my new foster mother. You don't have to _shoot_ me!"

Nudging past Mary Margret, Regina let out a low sigh. "Hold up, Gold. Maybe it _did_ work."

"Maybe _what_ worked?" Pan blurted. "Look, there must be some mistake. My name's Malcolm." His eyes darted to the _Welcome to Storybrooke_ sign. "I'm supposed to be meeting my new foster family." For some reason, he remained fixated on Emma. "Are you Belle French? Mr. Gold's girlfriend?"

Belle took a step forward, still remaining behind the town line. " _I'm_ Belle."

"I'm Malcolm, your boyfriend's new son." He winced at the sight of Mr. Gold, whom he had now identified by association. "Oh, wow. The agency must be getting desperate."

"Excuse us for one moment, won't you, _Malcolm_?" Mr. Gold sneered, pulling Regina aside and growling, "I give you the power to provide my wayward father with new memories – _any_ memories at all – and you make him my foster child?"

"Exactly. He's your father, Gold." Regina wretched free. " _Your_ burden."

"I don't want him," he breathed out shrilly. "This was Ms. Swan's idea; why didn't you make him _her_ son?"

"And essentially make him Henry's brother? No way."

"Oh, but you've got no problem turning Henry's evil great-grandfather into his evil adopted uncle?"

Regina sardonically pretended to consider for a moment, before shrugging indifferently.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with him?"

"I don't know; teach him to play scrabble, or run that shop of yours. Just keep him away from Henry."

Mr. Gold's brow furrowed angrily. "And how am I meant to explain a town filled with magic, hospitalized fairies, and a rogue shadow running amok?"

"You're _not_ ," Regina reminded him in a slow, stern tone. "If he believes in magic, he might figure out he can use it. Even without his memories."

"I don't mean to break up this little tea-circle," Pan called from behind the line, "but I really don't fancy standing out here all day while you whisper in a huddle. Also, can somebody explain why I'm dressed like I'm auditioning for _A Midsummer's Night's Dream_?" He stared down at his green-and-black _Peter Pan_ outfit, rolling his shoulders awkwardly. "Where are my things?"

"I already want to kill him," growled Mr. Gold, rubbing his temples.

"Congratulations," Regina laughed, "you're the father of a smug teenager."

* * *

The bells overhead jingled as Mr. Gold threw the door to the shop open to allow Malcolm and Belle – who was carrying a small shopping bag of Storybrooke-appropriate clothes for Pan they'd picked up on the way – to enter before him. He couldn't help glaring at the back of Malcolm's head. Would he ever be free of this distasteful, heartless person?

He snapped his fingers, trying to get Malcolm's attention as the boy looked around at the shelves and glass cases with an half impressed, half contemptuous expression on his face.

"So, this is how it's going to work," he began, his tone very no nonsense. "You will go to school every day–" Mr. Gold paused, making a mental note to ask Mary Margret to see to it that Malcolm shared no classes or lunch periods with Henry. Resuming: "After which you will immediately come _here_ to the pawnshop, where you will help with chores until it's time to go home. You are to touch nothing without my expressed permission, do you understand?"

Malcolm's nose wrinkled. "What about weekends? What about friends?"

"I wouldn't count on having either of those."

Belle couldn't help feeling a mild twinge of pity when Malcolm looked at her, as if expecting that she'd somehow soften Mr. Gold up. She hadn't forgotten all the horrible things he'd done (it still turned a knot in her stomach to recall the Darling brothers' crestfallen faces as they'd explained how they had to do what Pan told them, or he'd kill their sister), including abandoning Rumpelstiltskin as a helpless child, but he wasn't that person right now.

It was like when she had been Lacey. There was an entirely different set of memories and circumstances in his mind right now. It wasn't real, but it was real to _him_. Who knew how bad Regina had made his memories of previous foster families? Belle highly doubted Regina would have been so magnanimous as to give good memories to a fiend who'd kidnapped her son.

She almost reached over and squeezed his shoulder, wanting to say, "Don't worry, I'll talk to him," but stopped herself just in time. There was a reason, after all, Rumple had to do this. He had to keep Pan off the streets of Storybrooke as much as possible. So she just handed him his bag of clothes instead, smiling tightly.

* * *

That night, Malcolm was appalled to discover that his new foster father had locked him in the guestroom after lights out. He tried to pry open a window, ready to see what this town was like beyond this rich ass's prison-house, but it was sealed shut (by magic, though he had no way of knowing this).

Gritting his teeth, he picked a pillow off the bed and flung it at the wall. Then he lifted a sneaker out of the shopping bag Belle had handed him earlier and threw that at the wall as well.

It made a loud thump, and Mr. Gold responded by banging his cane on the floor (the bedroom he shared with Belle was directly above the guestroom) and telling him to pipe down.

Muttering profanity under his breath that suggested Mr. Gold do something anatomically impossible, Malcolm stomped over to where the pillow had bounced after hitting the wall, picked it up, and carried it back to the bed.

Then, curling into a ball on top of the beige comforter, he clutched the pillow to his chest.

* * *

"Where did you get that shirt?" demanded Mr. Gold as Malcolm took off his jacket, revealing a black T-shirt with a graphically bloodied skull on it.

It was supposed to be Malcolm's first day working in the shop, but there was no way he could have him skulking about the place looking like _that_...

He'd scare away all the customers!

"I traded another boy for it at school." He pulled his hand out from behind him, suddenly holding a cigarette between his index and middle fingers. "Cool, isn't it?"

"Now you're _smoking_?" exclaimed Mr. Gold, his face going somewhat red.

"I don't know, _am_ I?" sneered Malcolm sarcastically, bringing the cigarette to his lips.

"What's going on out here?" Belle came in holding a spray bottle she'd been using to lightly water the delicate plants in the back room.

Mr. Gold took the bottle from her hand and sprayed it in Malcolm's face, putting out the cigarette. "That does it!" Slamming the plastic bottle down on the glass countertop, he reached over and grabbed the back of Malcolm's neck, dragging him out to the car before he even had a chance to wipe the splattered mist and ash off his face. "We are going home, and you _will_ change your clothes!"

"Anything you say, Daddy-dearest."

"Don't call me that."

"Rumple it is, then."

" _What_?" Mr. Gold let go of him, suddenly looking like he was about to have a stroke right there in the middle of the street. "You remember?"

Malcolm rubbed the back of his bruised, aching neck, glowering at his seemingly deranged guardian. "What are you talking about? That's what Belle calls you, isn't it?"

"Oh." His chest stopped heaving dramatically. "Just get in the car."

* * *

After waiting almost twenty minutes for his teenage father to come downstairs dressed in appropriate work clothes, Rumpelstiltskin was ready to storm up there and drag him back to the shop in the buff if necessary.

Finally, though, Malcolm appeared on the stairs decked out in one of Mr. Gold's own black-on-black suits. His hair was matted down, combed into a shorter version of Rumple's own parted hairstyle. He had gotten hold, somehow, of a long stick and was using it as a faux cane, slowly hobbling down the stairs in an exaggerated, melodramatic manner.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Malcolm's face twisted in an expression of false surprise. "I thought this was the uniform."

Belle – standing in the doorway, the car keys dangling from her hands – sucked her lips in to hide a laugh her involuntarily shaking shoulders betrayed anyway.

* * *

Lifting a cool cloth from his forehead as he sat up on the long couch in the back room he was currently sprawled out on, Mr. Gold sighed, "Well, it's almost three thirty, and I don't hear any sirens."

Belle forced a smile, sitting down on the edge of the couch and touching his leg consolingly. "Maybe all your father needed was a little time to adjust."

Mr. Gold grimaced. He'd heard of aging parents going through a second childhood, but Malcolm brought new meaning to the term altogether. He'd only been in school for five days, and already he'd been brought to the storefront in the squad car by Emma three times.

The list of complaints was practically endless. Gambling and smoking on school grounds; sneaking _off_ school grounds to egg the convent the nuns rented from his guardian; super gluing another boy's fingers to a urinal; stealing David Nolan's truck from the parking lot where Mary Margret had left it and going for a joyride around town; cheating on tests; stealing answer keys and selling them to other children so _they_ could cheat on tests...

And that was just scratching the surface!

Before Mr. Gold could continue contemplating his wayward, amnesic papa's misdeeds, the bells out front jingled. There was a thump as Malcolm apparently threw off his backpack and swung it at something fragile, loudly shattering whatever it was. "I'm _back_!"

"Belle, could you give him his list of chores for the afternoon?" He leaned back and rubbed his temples, eyes half-closed. "I think I'm getting a migraine."

"Of course. You rest."

" _Helloooooo_ , anybody here?" Malcolm was calling as Belle stepped out. "Oh, hi, Belle. Boy, am I glad to see you."

She blinked in surprise, her brow furrowing uncertainly. "You are?"

"Yeah, of course. I like you. You're the only one in this town who's not completely psycho."

Belle actually felt moved by this unexpected statement. Sometimes it was so hard to remind herself who Malcolm really was; that he wasn't just some troubled kid she was helping Rumpelstiltskin raise.

"You know," he went on, "I think you're the only person in town who hasn't yelled at me."

Her face softened. "Well, Malcolm, to be fair, you _have_ damaged a lot of their personal property since you arrived."

"Yeah, but still. It's not my fault they're such _freaks_."

"That's not very nice."

"They _are_ ," he insisted. "There's this one boy, in my class..." He raised an eyebrow and leaned in, "his name's Felix. All he does is grin and wink at me." Wetting his lips, he cocked his head and turned the corners of his mouth up in an exaggerated imitation, batting an eye. "Like that. All day, every day."

Belle bit back a smile. " _Malcolm_..."

"Also, he thinks my name is Peter."

"Oh, my."

"Yeah, you're telling me."

"There must be _something_ you like about your new school," she tried haplessly.

To her surprise, he blushed and momentarily broke eye contact with her. "Well, there is this... _girl_..."

Belle's chest tightened, a conflicted feeling rising in her heart. On the one hand, her natural instinct was to encourage the pursuit of true love. Everyone deserved to find it, in her opinion; it was a beautiful, beautiful thing. _However_ , Malcolm was also Mr. Gold's father, and the thought of him falling in love with some poor girl, countless years his junior, in Storybrooke was more than a little disturbing. Perhaps she should simply recommend that he focus on improving his grades before seeking romance.

"She's really something. She's got these absolutely _killer_ eyes. Beyond intense." Malcolm seemed unable to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up. "I like her and everything, but the one time I came up and talked to her – you know, at lunch..."

"What is it, Malcolm? What happened?"

"She started screaming and crying for me to stay away from her and threatened me with a plastic knife."

"I'm afraid it doesn't sound as though she cares for you like you do her," she told him frankly.

He sighed. "Shows she has fire. I _like_ fire."

"Maybe she wants some space."

"I think what she wants is to be medicated," he said flatly. "Do you know what she said when she attacked me with that plastic knife? She said _No, no, you're not putting me back in that cage – No!_ " He rolled his eyes. "I mean, I've had girls tell me no before, but not quite like _that_. And where she thinks I'm going to get a cage, I have _no idea_."

Belle nearly choked on her own spit. "Wait... This girl... Her name isn't... She's not _Wendy Darling_ , by any chance?"

"Yeah, that's her." His face brightened. "You don't happen to know where she _lives_ , do you?"

 **A/N: Reviews welcome.**


	2. Wendy Darling

**A/N: So why does the Snow Queen/Sarah Fisher randomly make a cameo appearance in this chapter? Because she's awesome, that's why. LOL.**

 _The Short, Cursed Life of Malcolm Gold_

A Reimagining of "The New Neverland"

Part Two: Wendy Darling

 _The Darling Residence, approximately two weeks ago_

John and Michael found it nearly impossible to tear their eyes from their sister. After over a century of being separated from her, they couldn't help feeling as though she'd disappear like a ghostly wraith on the wind if they glanced away for so much as a second.

How young she still appeared also took some getting used to. Which was why – over their first quiet supper together since being reunited – Michael had found himself leaning over and whispering, rather pathetically, to his brother, "I remember her being a lot taller."

Wendy, overhearing, cast her eyes up from her plate and softly replied, "To a five year old, I'm an Amazon."

"How's the chicken, Wendy?" John asked next, following a long pause.

"Good," she assured them, smiling weakly.

"We got it from Granny's Diner," Michael put in. "It's a lot better than that place we used to go when we were in Boston, don't you think, John?"

John didn't reply.

"You were in Boston?" asked Wendy.

"That's right. When Pan wanted us to–" Michael began, before John kicked him under the table. Confused, his eyes darted to his brother, who hastily shook his head. "Oh. Sorry, Wendy."

"That's all right." She put her fork down.

"I really didn't mean to upset you," Michael insisted brokenly.

"You didn't, Michael, I promise."

"Something's wrong, though, isn't it?" John realized.

"No, it's just..." Wendy sighed. "When you said we were going home, I... I thought you meant _London_."

"You don't like the apartment," Michael guessed, his mouth turning down into a disappointed pout. "It's your room, isn't it? John, I _told_ you she'd hate the corner bedroom."

After getting Pandora's box back from them, Belle had made arrangements for the Darling brothers to have a sizable apartment, complete with an extra bedroom for when Wendy was brought back with the others. Micheal had thought she'd find the corner bedroom too drafty, because it had a big French-style window which latched funny and sometimes let chills in. John, though, had been adamant it would be perfect because it had a vague resemblance to the nursery they'd lived in together as children back in London and would be a comforting sight after her ordeal in Neverland.

"No, I love it," Wendy quickly assured him, reaching across the table to touch his hand. She truly did adore her new bedroom. Especially the way they'd lovingly fixed it up for her, all with Victorian and Edwardian furniture, and a mahogany rocking-chair with a heart-shaped headboard they'd bought from Marco. It was just... "Things are so strange here, after all this time. I thought London might..."

John closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "London's changed, too, Wendy. It's not like you remember it."

"No, I suppose it wouldn't be."

"Besides, you know Archie thinks you should stay in town and keep up your sessions." John put his hand over hers while it was still over Michael's, the blood of all three Darling children flowing closely together, for a single moment pulsing simultaneously like the beat of a heart. "In case he needs to prescribe more tranquilizers."

It was true, Wendy had to admit to herself, thinking of the dark circles under her eyes. Nightmares about Peter Pan and Neverland had made sleep difficult. Twice already she'd woken with a sweat-soaked brow, screaming her lungs out, unable to quiet herself voluntarily. Michael had tried to give her a tranquilizer, only his hands had shook too badly and John ended up having to slide the long needle into their sister's vein instead.

It wasn't as if the doctors in London were just going to hand over brown bags full of strong sedatives the way Doctor Whale did, nodding as he looked over whatever papers Wendy brought him from Archie. John was right. They needed to be here, in Storybrooke.

Letting go of his siblings' hands, John stood up and left their small, circular dining room, returning with something wrapped in crinkly paper and tied with string. "Here, Wendy. We've saved this for you, all these years." He leaned over the table, placing the parcel down beside her plate. "I thought something familiar – from our old home – might help you adjust."

Gingerly, she pulled back the wrapping to reveal a well-worn hardcover book. _The Sorcerer's Apprentice_.

"It's the book you were reading the night Mother and Father discovered you were hiding Bae in our house," Michael chimed in. "John was sitting right next to you when Father took it away because we weren't allowed to read at the table. Remember?"

Wendy ran her fingers along the battered spine. Amazing to think it had been almost new when she'd last held it. "How could I forget?"

That, of course, was another reason they had to stay. For Baelfire. He was family too. After so long they were finally within walking distance of each other... Maybe they could all be a family again, the four of them. Even if their parents were long gone now. Although, Bae was called Neal now, and more interested in being a family with his own son and Emma Swan.

" _Thank you_." Clutching the book to her chest, Wendy kissed her brothers on their cheeks and went to her room.

Swaying back and forth in her rocking-chair late that night, _The Sorcerer's Apprentice_ open on her lap, she almost thought she might have good dreams for once. But no sooner had her tired eyes closed, allowing her to doze off, than a sharp wind rattled the window latch, blowing it open.

Jolting awake, Wendy found a small pile of skeleton leaves and sand at her feet.

* * *

 _Two Days Ago_

The following message was left on John Darling's voicemail: _Hello, Mr. Darling, this is the Storybrooke High School nurse. Could you or your brother please come pick up Wendy? She seems to have had some kind of traumatic episode at lunch. We can't get her to stop crying._

* * *

 _Present Day_

As she did every Friday, Wendy visited Tinker Bell in the hospital and left flowers.

Despite the fact that word had come from Bae that he, Killian, Regina, and Emma had successfully recaptured Pan's shadow in the coconut shell starmap and burned it, Tink still had yet to regain consciousness. So Wendy did the only thing she could think of. She never missed a weekly visit and never forgot to whisper, each time before she left, "I believe in you, Tink."

This week, however, after squeezing the fairy's hand goodbye and making her routine whisper, she was confronted with the last face she wanted to see.

Leaning in the sliding-glass doorway, was Peter Pan, grinning impishly at her.

Grasping desperately for the first thing within reach, Wendy held up a bedpan in front of her like a shield. "You stay away from me!"

"Are you planning on reacting like that every time you see me?" he asked, chuckling sardonically.

"They say you don't remember," she gasped out. "It's a lie. I _know_ you're just pretending! You won't get away with it!"

"What _are_ talking about?"

"You're not supposed to be here." Her eyes darted protectively to Tinker Bell over her shoulder. "Leave now or I'll scream."

"Relax." He took a step towards her and pulled something out of his pocket.

"Keep away."

"Give me your hand."

" _Why_?"

"Oh, just do it."

She reached out with her trembling right hand, the other still clutching the bedpan.

Forcing a handshake, he pressed something tiny and hard into her palm. "My name's Malcolm Gold. It's nice to finally meet you, Wendy Darling."

Drawing her hand away as if he'd burned it, she looked at the object he'd given her. It was a golden locket in the shape of an acorn, roughly the size of a button, on a thin gold chain. "What's this?"

"A gift." He shrugged. "I stole it from my guardian's antique shop."

She shook her head frantically, holding it out by the chain. "No. I don't want it." _I don't want anything from you._

He smirked. "Tell you what, you agree to come with me, right now, and get an ice cream, and if you still want to give it back to me afterward, I'll take it and I won't bother you anymore."

Wendy pouted. "And if I don't?"

"Then I follow you around, dropping various pilfered presents like a magpie." He arched an eyebrow. "Come on, it's an _ice cream_. Who's it going to hurt?"

Was it possible he really _didn't_ remember? That the personal curse Regina and Rumpelstiltskin had cooked up for him actually _did_ turn him into a high-spirited but virtually harmless boy named Malcolm?

"I'll spring for _sprinkles_ ," he added.

She sighed. He wasn't going to leave her alone unless she agreed. Maybe it would be all right, so long as they stayed in the open. He couldn't lock her in a cage in the middle of town, could he?

Reluctantly, she nodded. "All right, _one_ ice cream."

* * *

The refreshing cold chill that felt more _real_ , somehow, than mere air conditioning embraced Malcolm and Wendy as they entered _Any Given Sundae_.

Sarah Fisher smiled softly at them. "What can I get you?"

Wendy ordered a vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles.

"Rocky Road for me," Malcolm said, handing Sarah a credit card.

Her thin platinum eyebrows came close together as she studied it. " _You're_ Belle French?"

"Yeah, you have a problem with that?"

"Not at all." She bit back a quiet snicker of amusement, returning the card after charging the two cones to it. "Have a lovely day, Ms. French." Scooping out the two cones, she came around the counter and handed them to Wendy.

* * *

Following Malcolm down to the harbor, Wendy felt herself beginning to relax. This wasn't so bad. Could she truly have been so afraid of this boy that she'd had nightmares and had to be sedated? It seemed silly now, watching him eat his ice cream.

Not sure what else to say, she managed, "So what _is_ Rocky Road, exactly?" She took a lick of her own ice cream, noticing it was starting to melt a little.

"It's like chocolate with–" He stopped. "Wait, you've never had Rocky Road?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"And I thought _I_ had a lousy childhood." Malcolm held out his cone in her direction. "You want a lick?"

Could this be some sort of trick? It seemed innocent enough. She leaned forward and licked the side. "It's _good_."

"You like it?"

"Uh-huh." Wendy was actually beginning to wish she'd ordered it herself.

"Then let's trade." He took her cone, ignoring the line of sticky white cream running down one side, and handed her his.

"Why are you being so _nice_?" she blurted. The last time he'd been this pleasant with her was her first time in Neverland – right before he told her he didn't want her and that he was going to have his shadow kidnap one of her brothers instead.

He made a faux-wounded expression, putting his free hand to his heart. "Don't sound so _surprised_!"

"I'm sorry." She blushed in spite of herself.

They stopped at a bench. Malcolm gestured at it with his chin. "Let's sit for a minute, I want to show you something."

Easing down beside him, Wendy watched warily as he drew something out of his back pocket that she initially mistook for a pack of cigarettes before realizing it was a deck of cards.

"Ever play _Find The Queen_?" he asked her.

"How do you play?"

He took out three cards, examined them, then laid them flat on the bench next to her. "Pick one. If it's the queen, you win."

Taking another lick of Rocky Road, she pointed to the middle card. "That one."

"You're sure?"

She nodded.

He lifted it, revealing the queen of hearts. "You win." Usually he would have hidden this card up his sleeve right from the start, but he knew what he was doing. "Play again?"

"All right."

Shuffling the cards, Malcolm suggested they make it interesting. That if she lost this time, she had to keep the locket he'd given her.

"But if I win again, you have to take it back to Mr. Gold."

He smirked slowly. "Deal."

"That one." She pointed to the card on the left side.

This time, of course, the heart-surrounded lady was safely up his sleeve, where it belonged and felt right. "Eight of clubs. Oh, _sorry_. Better luck next time."

The Rocky Road nearly finished, Wendy began to get up. "I should go."

"Why don't you keep playing with me until you win?" Malcolm said, a little too quickly. "You're bound to sooner or later. Look how fast you won the first time!"

Not quite sure what was coming over her, Wendy agreed.

Malcolm shuffled and turned his face away for a moment, hiding his delight. He knew how shy he could make the queen. This could go on for _hours_.

* * *

It was twilight and the crickets and fireflies were already out by the time Malcolm finally let her win again and left her alone.

Feeling dazed, Wendy walked along the docks. Her thoughts swirled in a confusing blur, droned out by the sound of a bell ringing on a far-out buoy.

Somebody whistled. "Oy!"

Blinking, she turned, searching for the source.

"Aye, lass, over here." It was Killian Jones, stepping off the _Jolly Roger_. The flat of his hook rested heavily on her left shoulder. "Are you all right?"

She swallowed nervously. Had he seen her playing _Find The Queen_ with Peter Pan? How could she possibly explain _that_? Guilt pricked at her, reminding her that it was, after all, Hook's ship that enabled her to escape from that monster in the first place. Only, it was hard to keep on thinking of him as a monster when he'd been so... _different_...today.

A really _good_ different...

"Yes, I'm fine," she said softly.

"Then I think you should be on your way home now." He lowered his brow pointedly. "The docks are no place for a young lady after dark."

She exhaled, relieved. Maybe he _hadn't_ seen.

His hook slid down her arm, catching the bottom of her sweater sleeve and pulling her back for a moment. Leaning down close to her ear, he whispered. "Be _careful_. He may look like a boy, but he's a bloody demon."

* * *

Malcolm had barely taken two full steps into the house before a cane was pushed into his chest, pinning him back against the door frame.

Mr. Gold did _not_ look happy. "And where the hell have _you_ been?"

"Out."

"Out, where?" he hissed.

"Just _out_."

"You think I don't know you stole from me?"

Malcolm rolled his eyes, biting back a grin.

"Oh, so now you think it's funny." Mr. Gold's eyes flashed angrily as he pushed harder on the cane. "You are going to return my property and go straight up to your room."

"Can't." He shrugged callously under the cane's weight. "I don't have it."

"What did you do with it?"

"Gave it to my girlfriend."

"Unbelievable." He lowered the cane, pointing at him furiously with his other hand. "You're nothing but a thief and a liar, you know that? I've been a fool, hoping you'd change."

"I may be a thief, and I may have told a few white lies," simpered Malcolm, rubbing the sore place the cane's indent had left on his chest, "but at least I don't lock children in their rooms or force them to work like slaves!" He stomped to the staircase, ignoring Belle, who was watching their exchange from the upstairs landing. "You're the worst father ever!"

"It takes one to know one!" Mr. Gold shouted at his retreating back.

Leaning over the railing, Malcolm snarled, "What the hell does that even _mean_? You people are such _freaks_!"

* * *

That night, Wendy didn't have her usual nightmares. Instead, she dreamed she was back in her nursery in London. The window opened of its own accord, and for a split second she was sure it was the shadow, only it turned out to be Peter himself. Nana barked protectively, but he put his hand on her big, shaggy head, and she fell asleep, allowing him to continue advancing towards Wendy.

She drew in a sharp breath. He slipped an arm around her waist, his hand resting on the small of her back. Then, without the slightest warning or indication that he meant to do so, he leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth.

Rather than push him away, she kissed him back. This went on for while longer, until Peter suddenly lifted her off the floor and flew her to the bed, placing her down on it. Then he began easing himself down on top of her, resuming kissing.

Wendy woke in her bedroom in Storybrooke, panting heavily. For a confused minute she stared breathlessly at the ceiling, her chest heaving almost violently.

Reason returned and she leaped out of bed and made a run for the bathroom, her stomach twisting and churning.

She vomited three times in quick succession into the toilet.

This reaction, though, had less to do with true disgust over the contents of her dream than the fact that one hundred years of eating only the rich, fruity kinds of food Peter magicked into existence in Neverland had weakened her stomach. It had gotten to the point where almost any intense emotion could make her throw up. The day John had had to collect her from school because Peter frightened her at lunch, she'd puked all over the back of his convertible.

"Wendy?" A light flicked on behind her. "You all right? Do you need the tranquilizers again?"

She shook her head and leaned her right temple against the porcelain bowl. "No, Michael, not tonight. I'm all right."

* * *

Playing _Twister_ for Gym class was probably a result of Storybrooke High budget cuts, but the kids seemed to be enjoying themselves regardless.

Wendy was doing pretty well, apart from having her backside up in the air and stepping over two other girls to reach the required colored circles, right up until somebody called out " _Orange circle_!" and a familiar voice crooned, "Hi, Wendy," not even an inch away from her right ear.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered breathlessly. "You're not even in this class."

"Never stopped me before. I love games." He rested his chin on her arm. "I've always thought _Twister_ was exciting. Don't you think it's fun, Wendy?"

"Sure." She willed herself not to giggle, even though someone had just accidentally dragged their scarf against her ankle, tickling her.

"Red Circle!"

He lined his lips with her ear again. "Wouldn't it be even more fun if we were naked?"

Still every bit the well-bred Edwardian girl despite her forced adjustments to modern life, she let out a yelp of horror, lost her balance, and would have fallen flat on her face if Malcolm hadn't caught her by the waist.

Her face was beet red, eyes wide with mortification.

"I'm just _messing_ with you, Wendy," he laughed. "Lighten up."

That was when he noticed something shiny sliding out from under her blouse. The acorn locket pendant. She was wearing it.

"I _knew_ you liked me," he chuckled smugly, arching a brow.

* * *

Wendy couldn't tell her brothers about what happened over the next few weeks. Part of her was ashamed, knowing it wasn't right. Another part of her simply didn't know _how_ to tell them. How could they possibly understand what she was feeling? They'd think she'd completely gone round the bend.

She almost told Archie during one of their sessions but couldn't quite bring herself to tell him the boy's name. Surely, by now, he knew exactly who Malcolm Gold was – just like everyone else in town did – and would be repulsed if she described the way her heart beat faster every time she saw him. Or the way she'd felt herself practically _glowing_ when he sat next to her in class or at lunch...

She tried, also, to keep Killian's warning close to her heart – he was a demon, a monster, a cold-hearted being – but there was no room for it, not with Malcolm taking up more and more space within its confines. It was quickly getting to the point where she couldn't even _see_ the demon anymore, only the boy. He was only a monster in her nightmares now. In her waking hours, he was wonderful.

They didn't get to spend much time together, Mr. Gold never rarely ever giving Malcolm a minute off from working at the pawnshop, so – perhaps unwisely – they'd formed a plan.

At night, before she went to bed, Wendy left her window unlatched for him. And Malcolm would shimmy up, silent as a shadow, and visit with her.

He'd discovered something – something he hadn't told anyone about, afraid they'd think he was even crazier than they were – recently. Struggling against the magically sealed window in his own bedroom at Mr. Gold's house, he'd felt a kind of... _power_...shooting out from his fingertips and it had _opened_. That was how he was able to escape and visit Wendy. He hoped, one day, when she was more stable, and less jumpy at his every oddity, he just might be able to tell her he thought he might have some kind of... _magic_...

For many visits they never kissed. Indeed, they hadn't even touched much apart from an occasional hand squeeze or the odd hug. Then, one night, after a flash rainstorm, when Wendy had just woken trembling from bad dreams and Malcolm entered soaking wet, this changed.

Smiling at her as she took his hand to help him over the ledge, he stroked the side of her face, tucking a piece of her sweat-matted hair behind an ear. "I love you, Wendy." It was the truth, for once, and not a game. She was the only part of his life in this stupid town he cared about, the only person he didn't long to make as miserable as Mr. Gold made him on a daily basis.

It was impossible, her mind kept telling her, but – looking at him, seeing him like this – she couldn't deny she felt the same. "I love you, too," she said, and kissed him.

He felt it again – that power – but it wasn't just in his fingertips now; it was his entire body and soul, and with it his memories.

His _real_ memories.

True love's kiss had broken the curse, restoring them.

Wendy felt it, too, and a cold horror – one she didn't want to accept – swept over her as she pulled away.

Sure enough, the expression on his face was no longer sweet. It was dark with satisfaction.

Malcolm Gold was gone; Peter Pan was back.

Hook had been right. She could see the demon now.

His lips curling up into a nasty smirk, he leaned close to her ear. " _Thank you, Wendy_."

 **A/N: Review if so inclined.**


	3. Peter Pan

_The Short, Cursed Life of Malcolm Gold_

A Reimagining of "The New Neverland"

Part Three: Peter Pan

Felix was almost giddy with excitement when the phone rang in the middle of the night and it was Peter – no longer Malcolm Gold, who didn't even know who his most loyal Lost Boy _was_ – on the other end.

At first he'd been sure it was all a ruse, but after a while he'd had to admit there really was a curse on Pan. Still, his faith hadn't wavered. He'd known this day – or night, to be more exact – was coming.

It was only a question of when.

Finally it had happened, and he was walking up the hill to the Storybrooke Wishing Well.

There was Peter – no longer dressed in modern clothes, back in his Neverland garb – waiting for him, as promised.

"Did you get it?"

Grinning slowly, Felix drew the scroll on which the dark curse was written from his coat pocket, handing it over. "You were right, the queen believed my story about Henry being in danger. Getting into her vault was almost too easy."

"She loves the boy." Peter sighed condescendingly, unrolling the scroll. "That makes her weak."

"I got the rest of the stuff." Felix shrugged off a backpack; inside were the ingredients to the curse.

"Good work, Felix; you will be rewarded when we make Storybrooke the new Neverland, when we make them all pay for what they did to me."

"I knew you'd win," Felix told him, nodding proudly. "Peter Pan never fails."

In under ten minutes everything was ready and poured into the well. All except for the last ingredient. The heart of the thing Peter Pan loved most.

Reaching into a small cloth packet he'd been keeping under his arm, Peter revealed a brightly glowing red heart. Closing his eyes, he stretched his hand out over the well and crushed it slowly between his fingers and palm. When all that was left was fine dust, glittering like the creation of fairies and diamonds, he opened his fingers and let it all slip through, into the magic water below.

The moment it was done, he slumped down, pressing his back against the stone side of the well. Tears sprung up in his eyes. A single teardrop escaped, rolling down his cheek.

"Peter?" Felix looked concerned, crouching beside him. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm _not_ crying!" he snapped, turning his head away.

"Whose heart was it?" Felix asked, daring to grab his shoulder to get his attention. "Your son's? Rumpelstiltskin?"

He shook his head. "No. I never loved Rumple."

"Then whose?"

"Don't worry, Felix." Peter wiped his eyes dry with the back of his wrist, regaining control. "It's no one you'll miss."

* * *

"Wendy?" John pounded on his sister's bedroom door. "Wendy, open the door or I'm going to break in!"

"Kick it down," Michael told him, his face ashen with anxiety. "Do it now."

Smashing into the wood of the door with the heel of his boot until the weak, old-fashioned lock gave way, John forced his way in.

" _Wendy_!" cried Michael, tears streaming down his crumpling face.

Their sister was lying lifelessly by the open window, one arm outstretched, as if trying to reach for help or stop her murderer. All around her body were dozens of skeleton leaves, outlining her small shape like police chalk.

" _No_." John scooped her up into his arms, holding her tight, pressing her pale face to his heaving chest. "Oh, God, no... Wendy..."

Michael sat on the bed and continued to weep inconsolably into his hands.

Pan had warned them, long ago, that if they ever failed him, ever tried to betray him, he'd kill their sister.

And Peter Pan never failed.

 **A/N: Is it just me or do I always end up killing one half of my OTP whenever I write Darling Pan? Sigh. Reviews Welcome.**


End file.
